You Can Prepare for Death but You'll Never Be Prepared for It
by Tengo92
Summary: Otose has received a small rough wooden box. Her husband has finally made it home.


I held the small, roughly hewn box in my hands. Strange, my vision was blurry but I could still feel sharp splinters angrily dig into my hands. Quietly I tried to breath deeply in a vain attempt to steady myself. Instead all I caught was a nose full of pine and the faint scent of wood smoke.

"Uh, excuse me ma'am but I need your stamp here" The delivery man said nervously. I couldn't quite make out where he was pointing, except that it was somewhere near the bottom on a slip of paper.

Distantly, I heard myself beckon the man to follow me into my snack shop. I turned around mechanically and without much thought, I shifted the box under my left arm. It took several steps before I stood behind the bar. The only thing I could feel while I jerkily rummaged through several drawers were the tiny wooden daggers worming their way into my arm and my side.

With fumbling fingers, it took me a few tries to properly ink my stamp that was carved with my work alias. Somehow my eyes had cleared up enough for me to easily see where I needed to stamp. After a few coins dropped on the delivery man, he left. I was alone with my burden.

I set the box down on the counter and stood still for a few moments. I turned and walked around the bar, over to my shop's entryway. Slipping on my shoes, I went outside. Stiffly I went over to the sign that signaled 'open for business' and switched it off.

Before I headed back inside, I turned to survey the bustling street in front of me. The setting sun painted the sky in bloody reds and garish oranges. I felt my eyes start to water again but this time it was simply the bright light that was to blame. However that wasn't the only garish thing, all up and down the crowded street there were neon signs flickering to life. Some were relatively innocent but most were for adult (and sometimes illicit) pleasures.

Scanning the crowds, it was still unsettled me a bit to see so many pairs of downcast eyes and furrowed brows. There was also less laughter and flirting from the few hard faced men that still wandered the streets. Business carried on, despite the war, but perhaps not exactly like it had in the past.

A deep sigh escaped me as I managed to avoid, just barely, dragging my feet as I approached the door. Before I slid it open, I rested my head on it along with my hands for a minute. Someone called out a greeting to me and I felt my posture instantly go ramrod straight again. Almost perfunctorily, I pivoted to respond with a slight acknowledging bow before I jerkily slid open the door with a sharp snap.

Slowly, my feet took me behind the bar again but this time it was to fish a half empty bottle of cheap sake and a short glass tumbler out from a cabinet. Next, I set them down by the small wooden box. I stooped down once more but this time to grab something from under the bar. It was something I had prepared ever since I found out that he, Tetsugoro, had decided to let himself be recruited into the Joui army.

It was a piece of paper I had rolled up in an old, tattered sushi rolling mat. Gently, I unrolled it and smoothed out the rice paper onto the bar. In my best and neatest calligraphy, I had written that my shop would be closed for a few days until the funeral had taken place. I bit my bottom lip and tried desperately to blink my vision clear. A few tears escaped and managed to plop onto my carefully written sign.

My hand went to one of the drawers under the bar where I remembered seeing a roll of tape earlier. It didn't take long for me to dig around in the various detritus that had accumulated before I found it. Carelessly, I shut the drawer and picked up my sign with the roll of tape in my other hand. The back of my hand wiped my cheeks clear before I started moving.

With listless steps, I passed through the door I had left open. Indolently, I slid the door shut. I smoothed the rolled piece of paper flat against the door and proceeded to tape the corners to the wooden parts. I sighed and let my head hand down for a few moments before I went back inside.

Once inside, I leaned against the door frame and let loose a tired sigh. Only about thirty minutes had crawled by but it somehow felt like a lifetime had just passed. I exhaled once more and turned around to lock the door.

Having done that, I padded to the back room to retrieve Tetsugoro's portrait. Upon returning with it, I set it down next to the roughly hewn box. I wound my way around the bar to grab a sake saucer and made my way back around. Carefully, I set it down in front of the portrait. Bracing one hand on the bar and the other on the bar stool, I hauled myself up onto it.

With drooping shoulders, I reached for the bottle of sake that was to the left of the wooden box. That's when I finally noticed it. My husband's kanji had been hastily brushed onto the box's lid. There were a few other different colored patches on it as well, besides the black paint used. A few were a slightly rusty brown color but for the majority of the spots, it was impossible to guess what else had splattered on it. It occurred to me, that it was pretty accurate to say his ashes had clearly been through the wars and back.

A grim chuckle escaped my lips at the thought. Gently, I picked up the bottle of sake and poured a bit into the saucer on the other side of the box. Next I sloshed some into the short tumbler I had slid closer to myself.

"You know, when I said to bring your ashes back home" I said after a small swig "I didn't mean literally."


End file.
